Prison Break
by When the Wind Stands Fair
Summary: It's the dead of night and, deep in the bowels of the ARC, a daring rescue mission is taking place...


_It's the dead of night and, deep in the bowels of the ARC, a daring rescue mission is taking place..._

Prison Break

Expensive leather shoes creaked slightly. The man froze, holding his breath.

It's okay.

Nobody heard.

There _must_ have been a better time to do this. If anyone caught him...

Oh God, if anyone _caught him..._

It would ruin him.

He took another step, wishing – far too late – that he had taken these blasted shoes off before setting out on this _ridiculous_ half-baked prison break.

Of course, he thought, there _was_ a better time to do this.

Such as _when there was nobody in the ARC!_

But no. Here he was.

Sneaking around behind everybody's backs.

What if _Becker_ caught him?

Well maybe it would snap the man out of his misery and force him to lighten up a bit.

Some hope.

Nothing short of a miracle or really convenient anomaly would make that man crack a smile.

But, seriously, what if someone _saw _him?

Creeping around like a common criminal, stealing from this place, of all.

He slipped his shoes off, praying the floor was at least _slightly_ clean; after all, those rodents had chewed so many blasted holes in _every pair of socks he owned_.

Ah.

Back to why he was doing this.

Why was he doing this again?

Oh yes.

He missed them. He actually _missed_ them.

Oh no. Noises.

He shot into the shadows. Completely silently, like an upper-class James Bond.

Or so he told himself.

Three members of the menagerie crew strolled past him, oblivious.

He was hiding from his own subordinates.

Resisting the urge to slam his forehead against the wall, he continued; cumbersome, slightly chewed, badly repaired pet-carrier in one hand.

What if someone was watching?

Were there cameras down here?

Was Becker sat in his office, eyebrows somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline, watching in disbelief as his boss danced between shadows?

He glanced up and, sure enough, a small red light was winking at him, recording his every move.

Now resisting the urge to wave every rude gesture he knew in the camera's general direction, the man dodged underneath, into the blind spot, bashing his legs with the carrier.

Did Becker see that?

Or, heaven forbid, one of Becker's men?

No, Becker was far too grumpy and mistrustful to allow _anyone_, known or not, into his office unsupervised.

There was a faint glow under the menagerie door.

The man reached for the handle.

It wasn't like anyone would blame him was it? The rodents were nothing more than a nuisance, always escaping, getting underfoot. They tripped Becker down the stairs the other day for crying out loud!

Well, okay, they'd only escaped once.

And they didn't trip Becker; he just rugby tackled one of them, and the stairs were very conveniently placed.

But still.

It was funny. Even Becker thought so. What Connor wouldn't have given...

The man shook his head, returning to the task in hand.

Best not to think of Connor. Or Abby. Or Danny.

_Focus man._

Would there be _more_ paperwork when they were reported missing?

Or was Becker watching and sorting it all out?

He hoped so; he had been very amused, watching the Head of Security go through this exact dance a few days ago as he appropriated Rex from the menagerie, and had filled in all the paperwork ready to hand over, pertaining to the custody of one prehistoric lizard.

He could still remember the exact shade of red the Head of Security had turned upon being presented with the forms delivering Rex into his care, even as he tried to hide the carrier behind his legs. And failed.

Anyway.

Which cell was it?

The largest one held the mammoth, one of his personal favourites. A hairless Colombian mammoth, with a trunk five times more dexterous that that of an elephant.

Who said he didn't listen?

The smallest used to hold Rex, until Becker stole, _ahem,_ rescued him.

Neither were the one the man was looking for.

_Why was he doing this? He couldn't stand these creatures!_

Fourth left, second right, cell 09.

_Name/s (if applicable):____Sid and Nancy  
><em>_Species:__ Diictodons  
><em>_Era:__ Late Permian  
><em>_Captured/Discovered by:__ Connor Temple, Cptn Becker (Sid); Prof Nick Cutter, Abby Maitland (Nancy)_

Why the hell was he doing this?

The door opened silently, but the Diictodons were anything but. Squealing in excitement, they fell over each other trying to get out.

He closed off their escape route. Liberation was one thing, chaos quite another.

'Will you be _quiet?_' He hissed.

They ignored him.

They always did.

In fact they ignored everyone, so he wasn't really surprised.

The man placed the carrier on the floor. They ignored that too.

Until he threw a handful of food in.

He had to hope that the food would be enough to keep them just a little bit busy as he hefted the carrier, refugee Diictodons safely inside. They were heavier than they looked, and already they were trying to chew through the bars. How did Connor put up with them?

Oh, that's right. Put Connor in a locked room and soon enough he'd be chewing through the bars too. He was a Diictodon in all but species. Like attracts like, as they say.

But anyway.

The hallway was darker than the man remembered, possibly because it was later. It was eight pm when he'd left his office. Now it was ten.

Ten?

Had it taken Becker this long?

Had he really sat in his office for two hours, watching his friend (for that was what Becker had become somewhere around the time of the loss of four team members and the bottomless bottles of whiskey that had accompanied the event) dart between shadows while he drew up the papers to cover the ridiculous circumstances they had found themselves in.

The man struggled briefly against the urge to snort. What had the world done to him?

He was a highly trained ministry official, with a pay-cheque equalling those of most of his employees put together. He had a wife, three children and a once-in-a-lifetime job.

Yet here he was, stealing two annoying, prehistoric rodents from a top-secret government facility.

_His _top-secret government facility.

This time he did snort.

The end of the dark corridor was in sight; the man quickened his steps, he was just reaching for the door handle when...

'Hey.'

The man dropped the carrier, swearing fluently as the creatures within yowled in protest. He turned, an excuse already forming on his lips.

'Just how were you planning on getting them out? You'd have to carry them through ops and Jess has been handing out chocolate so everyone's in there.'

The excuse died as he recognised the tall, powerful figure leaning against the previously closed door.

'I would have thought of something.'

'Right.'

Becker tossed something through the air, the man caught it reflexively. His eyebrows rose as he realised what it was.

'Would you care to explain what you're doing with my car keys?'

'First rule of thievery: keep the getaway vehicle nearby. You left it as far away as physically possible. Then again, watching you try to come up with an excuse to Jess...I should have left it.' The sodding man was smirking now.

'You really are quite irritating, did you know that?'

'It's been mentioned.'

'Hmph. Anything else? Only I'm trying to steal two prehistoric guinea-pigs from a government building and would quite like to finish the job.'

'Oh no, by all means, be on your way. Just...'

He solemnly reached into his pocket and pulled out several sheaves of official looking paper. The man took them without a word and barely a nod.

To round off the whole annoying charade, Becker then stepped aside to reveal the blue jag, engine purring, with the boot open to admit the Diictodons, all ready to make its escape. The man growled, almost accidentally bashing the soldier on the knee with the carrier as he passed.

Served him right.

...

Later, back home, as the infernal creatures busied themselves with trashing his only-recently tidied flat, did the full enormity of what he had done settle on the man.

Why had he done this? Not only resigned himself, but brought upon himself the stress and annoyance, the sheer _inconvenience_ of two burrowing creatures that, just months ago, he had longed to be rid of.

The answer came that evening, as he settled down in front of the 10 o'Clock news, whiskey in hand. As the fire roared and the Diictodons slumped, finally asleep, over his slippered feet.

At this moment, his only peace of the day, could Lester almost pretend that his third unwelcome flatmate was dozing off in his still-messy area across the room.

And that was why he did it.

7 | Prison Break


End file.
